Meow; Too-close encounters of the Feline Kind

Summer holidays, and it's raining, again. But here I am, a little ray of sunshine to tell you that - no matter how wet you got on your way between the car and the supermarket as you dragged your complaining children behind you, counting the weeks until the end of the break under your breath - actually, life could be worse. For example, you could be a suicidal cat living with your mother, trapped in the cone of shame.

How outlandish, I hear you cry. What the hell is she on about this time? She's making it up just to get our attention...

But actually, no. Gather round to hear a tale of woe from CatWorld...

The Potski family have been staying with Husband's brother in the Netherlands. We arrived to find the younger of his two cats drugged up to the eyeballs, sporting a wicked looking scar running down his now shaved front haunch, and wearing the cone of shame to stop him from pulling his stitches out. The french door to the back garden was boarded up, the older cat (his mother) was sitting sulking and spitting in the corner, there was cat litter all over the floor in front of the litter trays, and a bill for over €600 from the vet sitting on the table.

So far, so 'Anthony & Cleo lay dead on the floor' riddle. (Remember that one?) What had happened was this; Cat B (the younger, injured, party) fights with Cat A (it's mother). Sometimes these confrontations get out of control, as on this occasion when my brother in law, upstairs one morning, was disturbed by the sound of yowling cats and the sound of glass smashing, and then... silence.

It appears that in the heat of the fight Cat B was so desperate to get away from it's mother that it literally threw itself through a plate glass window, leaving only blood, fur, and smashed glass behind as clues to what had happened. Cat A, knowing it had dun wrong, also scarpered, only reappearing a couple of days later to growl and hiss at her son who was now doing an impression of Banquo's Ghost, wandering sadly around with a dark green cone of shame velcro'ed around it's neck, meowing every time someone opened the front door and he realised that he was not going to be allowed to go through it.

So far, so not our problem.

Except.

Except, we were house-sitting for my brother in law, because he and his family were about to head off on holiday whilst we used their home as a base for our Dutch Adventure Week (featuring trips on trains, trams, and too-close encounters with raw herring). So for much of that week we were also caring for Banquo's Ghost (Cat B) who was:

1) unable to leave the house as his wound hadn't healed and so

2) consequently was over-utlising the litter trays

3) which, whilst we're on the subject, he was unable to use properly because said cone of shame stopped him turning around to make his deposit or, indeed,

4) from covering it up when he had delivered it.

5) And also couldn't groom himself (because of, again, the cone of shame) so was shedding everywhere

6) which set off Boy #1's allergies

7) which meant we had to keep the doors to the bedrooms (where the cats normally sleep) shut

8) which resulted in much complaining not only from Banquo's Ghost

9) but also Cat A, who reappeared regularly for food and to bully her son

10) and - once she realised that the way to her normal sleeping spot was closed - to wee on the sofa (repeatedly) in protest.

I think it's safe to say that as a result of this holiday, the Potski Family will not be owning a cat anytime soon...